by Jane Ashford
The duchess looked at her gloves again, stared off across the flower bed opposite, then sat back on the bench and sighed. “Very well. There’s no good way to begin. I must simply tell it.
“I was very young and silly when I first went to London. Your cousin Lavinia could tell you, if she would, how silly. I had a head full of romantic notions, combined with a great deal of stubbornness and arrogance. My family was wealthy, and I was very much indulged as a child. I expected to always be given whatever I wanted, and I brooked no interference from anyone.” She looked over at Elisabeth. “I say this not to place the blame on anyone else or even excuse myself, but only so that you will better understand the situation.”
Elisabeth nodded; these revelations coming from a woman so much older than herself effectively silenced her.
“Well, and so I was wild and imprudent,” the duchess went on. “It was a time of some turmoil, the uprising in France and so on, and I behaved as I should not. I refused to listen to anyone’s advice.
“What it comes down to is the usual tale. I met a young man and fell in love.” The duchess sighed. “As you may have guessed, it was Mr. Aldgate. Lucius was in the army, a very dashing and completely penniless young soldier. I was bouleversé, as we used to say then.” A faint smile lit the duchess’s face. “Everyone spoke against it, of course, including Lucius himself, but I was too headstrong to listen. And he loved me; I controlled him by that.” She looked across at Elisabeth. “We eloped, at my insistence. I was utterly imprudent. But I’m not entirely ashamed of that. I loved him very much.” She put a hand to her head for a moment. “What I am bitterly ashamed of is what followed.” She rubbed her hand across her forehead several times. “In a space of a very few days, I found I couldn’t live in genteel penury. Lucius had no money at all, and the little I’d been able to bring was soon gone. We stayed in mean inns going north to Gretna Green and were forced to give up our post chaise for the stage. I hated it!” This was spoken intensely, and the duchess hit her knee with a doubled fist. “I despise myself still, but I could not endure it. I left Lucius before we reached the border and fled back to my parents. I accepted the duke, who had been on the point of offering for me, and married him immediately. Lucius never reproached me or indeed communicated with me again. He attended my wedding clad in a magnificent suit of purple and silver. I knew it must have cost everything he had. But I never even spoke to him; I did nothing.”
“Dear ma’am, you needn’t tell me this,” Elisabeth interrupted. “But please believe that I understand what you must have felt.”
The older woman took a deep breath and appeared to recover herself. “I doubt it,” she said in her usual dry tones. “In any case, this is only the preface of what I wish to tell you. John is Lucius’s son.”
In her surprise, Elisabeth gasped.
“Yes,” the other went on. “You are a sensible young woman, as I observed, and not missish. I think I need say no more.”
Wide-eyed, Elisabeth shook her head.
“I never told anyone, naturally. Any remorse or guilt was mine to bear. But this is why I was so affected when you mentioned Lucius to me. The past I had thought forever buried seemed to come to life again. I was afraid.”
She seemed to wait for an answer, but Elisabeth could summon no words.
“But when I had talked with Lucius,” she went on, “I saw that it was all right. He was the same noble character. He wished to do nothing that would embarrass me, but he said he could not resist seeing me again after all these years.” A faint pink flush tinged the duchess’s cheeks. “I told him the truth. It seemed to me a kind of penitence to put my secret in his hands; he will tell no one else.” She looked into Elisabeth’s eyes. “You will say I should have told you before the wedding, and you are right, but my nerve failed me, I admit. John is still my son, and I wished him to be happy. I did not dare.”
She stopped, and Elisabeth struggled for the proper words.
“Are you angry?” asked the duchess finally.
“No, no, I’m not at all angry,” replied the girl quickly. “I’m overcome with surprise, I think.”
The older woman laughed a bit sourly. “Natural enough, I suppose. But is there anything you would wish done?”
“Done?” echoed Elisabeth rather stupidly.
“Indeed, that is what Lucius and I concluded. There is nothing to be done. John is my only child. He cuts no one out, save some very distant cousins who never thought to inherit the title. Things must remain as they are.”
“I…of course,” faltered Elisabeth, “it is hardly my affair. I cannot quite see, in fact, why you have told me.”
“I’m not sure I know,” answered the duchess meditatively, “except that I wished to be done with deceit, to start fresh, you see. But I couldn’t face Belinda with this story, as I ought.” She shrugged and rose. “I must go; I’m on my way north to meet Lucius. We are to be married on Thursday.”
Elisabeth got quickly to her feet. “Indeed? That’s wonderful.”
“If a trifle late?” asked the duchess drily. “Frankly, I’ve ceased to care what anyone thinks, even myself.” Her tone softened. “And I mean to do everything to make him happy now.” She pulled on her gloves decisively. “There, now I’ve told you everything, and I can go.” She began walking down the path before Elisabeth could reply.
The girl hurried after her, neither of them noticing a movement in the bushes behind the bench as they disappeared.
She watched the chaise drive off, then returned to the house, her mind whirling. Ames stopped her for a moment to say that Mr. Wincannon had waited for half an hour before going away again, promising to call the following day. Elisabeth was too occupied to do more than murmur an acknowledgment of this news as she entered the library again. She could not even care about having missed Derek at this moment.
Twenty-five
Elisabeth entered the breakfast room rather after her usual time the next morning, due to a restless night full of uneasy dreams. To her surprise, she found Jane there. “Good morning,” she said to her friend. “You’re late today, too. I don’t believe I’ve known you to breakfast after eight o’clock since we arrived.”
When she turned to reply, Jane appeared a bit heavy-eyed. “Indeed, I didn’t sleep very well,” she answered.
Elisabeth sat down and rang for fresh tea. “Nor did I,” she said, reaching for a muffin and beginning to butter it.
“I was thinking.”
“It must be in the air, then, for I was doing the same. Were you composing a new poem or merely formulating an article castigating young women of today for their frivolity?”
“No, neither,” said Jane. “I am… I have been concerned… I should very much like to have a private talk with you, Elisabeth.”
The younger girl sobered immediately. “Why, of course. Is anything wrong? I hope nothing has happened to upset you.”
Jane turned her head toward the window. “Not precisely. That is, I am a little upset. I wish to talk.”
“Of course,” responded Elisabeth after a pause. “What is it? How can I be of help to you?”
Jane turned back, moving rather nervously. “Oh, we can’t talk here. Will you come walking with me this morning? I need to move about; I can’t stay still.” As if to demonstrate this, she got up and walked to the window.
Elisabeth hesitated. “I do have an appointment this morning,” she began. “Could we perhaps go this afternoon instead?”
But Jane shook her head vehemently. She came back to the table and leaned across it toward Elisabeth. “No. Please, it must be now.” Tension and anxiety were clear in her face.
“Very well,” replied the other girl. “If it’s so serious, then of course I can cancel my engagement. Did I understand that you wish to go immediately?”
“Yes. Please.”
Elisabeth nodded. “If you will wait a mome
nt while I write a note, then, and fetch a shawl. You had best do so, too; there is a little chill this morning.”
Jane agreed. “But Elisabeth,” she added, “please don’t mention that you’re walking with me when you change the appointment. I don’t wish to be blamed, and it might be thought strange. I don’t want anyone else to know of my worries.”
Privately thinking her friend rather oversensitive, Elisabeth went into the library to compose a note to Derek Wincannon. She found this a little difficult, since she was putting him off for the second time, but she finally asked him to call in the afternoon rather than the morning. She got a shawl from her room and descended to the hall where Jane awaited her. “Ready?” she said, smiling.
“Yes,” answered Jane quickly, “but I have stupidly forgotten to bring my sketching things. Will you wait for me in the garden while I fetch them?”
“Do you need them today?” asked Elisabeth. “I thought you wanted to talk?”
“I want nothing to appear out of the ordinary,” replied the other girl tensely. “Oh, Elisabeth, you don’t know what has occurred. No one must find out.” This last remark was so impassioned that Elisabeth frowned sympathetically.
“Indeed? Well, I will wait in the garden if you wish it.”
“Please,” begged Jane. “I will look for you by the stile.”
Elisabeth walked down the path to the back garden. She waved to Mr. Lewis, who was crossing the stableyard some distance away, and greeted two of the gardener’s boys who were digging in the rose beds. She took the path between high hedges of boxwood that led to the stile into the field beyond.
It was indeed a little cold; the sky was overcast and threatened rain later in the day. She waited only a few moments before Jane came hurrying up, carrying a leather case. “Do you think it will rain?” Elisabeth asked her. “I hope we’re not in for a wetting.”
“It will hold off,” answered Jane, and she stepped onto the stile quickly.
Elisabeth followed her, and soon they were walking side by side along the footpath across the field. Jane set a brisk pace and remained silent.
After a while, Elisabeth grew puzzled. “What may I do to help you?” she asked the other girl at last. “Are you in some trouble, Jane?”
Without slackening her pace, Jane turned her head. “It’s so hard to begin,” she replied. “Forgive me. I know I’m acting strangely, but the exercise helps to calm me. Allow me a little time to gather my thoughts.”
“Of course,” said Elisabeth.
They walked. When they reached the end of the path and came into a lane, Jane turned left at the same brisk walk.
Thinking conversation might put her friend more at ease, Elisabeth said, “I’ve never walked this way before. I don’t yet know the neighborhood at all well. Have you been down this lane?”
“Yes,” responded Jane. “I’ve walked here several times.”
They went on for a while in silence, Elisabeth becoming more and more puzzled. Finally, she could stand it no longer. “Jane,” she began.
But the other girl interrupted her. “I know. I’m behaving very foolishly, and you’re quite right to be annoyed. I must tell you what has happened.”
“Shall we not stop and perhaps sit down somewhere?” Elisabeth looked about but saw only hedges and a few trees beyond them.
“No,” answered Jane decisively. “It really helps me to walk. Please.”
“Very well.”
Jane frowned as if in concentration. “I received a letter yesterday,” she began finally. “It held unsettling news; I have been worrying over it all night and morning.”
“What was it?” asked Elisabeth sympathetically. “Your family?”
Jane shook her head. “No. A friend. A dear friend has been killed.” She put a hand to her eyes as she walked on.
“Oh, my poor Jane. I’m so sorry.”
Jane said nothing. She kept her hand before her face, and Elisabeth thought she cried a little.
They rounded a bend in the lane. There was a low building ahead of them near the intersection with the high road. Elisabeth held out a hand toward her friend. “What do you wish to do?” she asked. “Do you want to go to them? I can give you the carriage and come with you if you like. Or if you prefer to travel alone…”
Jane started to lower her hand from her eyes, took a false step in a deep rut of the lane, and fell headlong on the road surface, dropping her case and crying out sharply.
Elisabeth ran to her. “Jane,” she cried, “are you hurt?”
To her relief, Jane sat up immediately. “No, no. How stupid of me. I wasn’t watching where I stepped.” She started to rise, but when she put weight on her left foot, she cried out again and clutched Elisabeth’s arm. “Ahh. I seem to have twisted my ankle,” she said through clenched teeth. “How foolish!”
Elisabeth put an arm around her for support. “Don’t be silly. It wasn’t your fault. But how shall we get you home again?” She looked about helplessly, seeing as she did so that the first few drops of rain were beginning to spatter the dust of the lane.
“That building is a small inn,” answered Jane tightly. “It isn’t elegant, but they will help us.”
“How fortunate,” sighed Elisabeth. “Can you walk there, or shall I fetch someone to carry you? Yes, that is best. Sit down here on this rock; I’ll only be a moment.”
“No, no, I can walk, with your help. It is only a step.”
Slowly, Jane leaning heavily on Elisabeth and limping, they traversed the short distance to the inn.
They reached the door just as the rain began in earnest, and Elisabeth was very grateful to enter the close narrow hallway and ease Jane into a straight chair there. “How lucky we were that this inn was so near,” she said. “Look, it’s truly raining now, and I daresay it will keep up all afternoon.”
Jane made no reply, and Elisabeth turned to peer down the corridor behind them. “I wonder where the innkeeper is?” she said. “There seems to be no one about.” There were several doors along the hall, but all were closed. “Hello,” called Elisabeth more loudly. “Is anyone here?”
“Who be that?” answered a deep voice from the recesses of the inn. And immediately afterward a large man appeared and came toward them. “Who’s there?” he repeated.
“Hello,” said Elisabeth. “Are you the innkeeper?”
“Mr. Crenshaw,” said Jane.
“Ah, it’s you is it? I never thought to see you in this rain, Miss Jane.”
“Indeed, we were lucky to reach shelter before it began,” replied Jane. “Is there a fire in the parlor? May we go in?”
“You know there is.” He opened a door at the right and gestured them in. Elisabeth could see the gleam of firelight from inside the room.
She turned to their host. “Miss Taunton has twisted her ankle,” she said to him. “We must help her to walk.”
“You go ahead, Elisabeth,” said Jane. “Mr. Crenshaw will give me his arm.”
“Course I will.”
Elisabeth looked from her friend to the burly innkeeper a bit doubtfully, then shrugged slightly and led the way into the parlor. It was rather dim, the only light coming from the fire and a small window.
It wasn’t until she was quite close to him that she realized someone else was in the room. “Good day, Miss Elham,” said George Jarrett. “Quite unpleasant weather, is it not?”
“Mr. Jarrett!” exclaimed Elisabeth. “What are you doing here?” She turned back toward the door, only to see it shut tight behind her.
She started quickly back, holding out a hand to grasp the doorknob. At the same time, she called, “Jane,” sharply and with some distress in her voice. Was her friend all right? But before she could reach the door, it opened, and Jane strode into the room.
“Yes, Elisabeth,” she said. “What is it?”
“Your�
�your ankle,” stammered the other girl.
“Very well done, Jane,” said Jarrett behind her. “I feared the rain would spoil everything.”
“You underestimate me,” answered Jane, smiling scornfully.
Elisabeth looked from one to the other, stunned. “What’s going on?”
“To put no sugar coating on it,” replied Jarrett, “you’ve been abducted, my dear Miss Elham.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Elisabeth. She turned. “Jane, what is this? Some sort of joke? I promise you I don’t find it funny.”
“I am afraid it’s true,” said Jane. She looked past Elisabeth to Jarrett. “I’ve done my part. I must return to the house.”
“Jane! What are you doing?” Elisabeth’s tone was both shocked and unbelieving. “You cannot make me believe you’re involved in this preposterous scheme.”
Jane shrugged. “I shan’t try. But don’t deceive yourself into thinking it preposterous, Elisabeth. I assure you it’s well planned. You are taken. Mr. Crenshaw is in Jarrett’s pay, and there is no one else here.”
“I’ll be looked for.”
“True,” continued Jane, “but you’ll be long gone before that. And now I must go.” She turned toward the door.
“Jane!” cried Elisabeth. “You won’t leave me here?”
Jarrett spoke up then. “Indeed, I’ve thought it over, and I believe that perhaps you should stay. It might make things easier.” He smiled. “And it would certainly prevent you from changing your mind about our little agreement. Crenshaw,” he called.
But before the door could open completely, Jane had reached into the pocket of her gown and pulled out a tiny pistol. Elisabeth watched astonished as she backed away to train it on both Jarrett and the entering Mr. Crenshaw. “You can’t think me such a fool as to trust you, Mr. Jarrett,” said Jane. “I’m disappointed in you.”
Jarrett bowed deeply. “As I am not in you, Miss Taunton. You will, of course, do just as you please.”
Jane smiled. “You don’t wonder whether I can shoot?”
“I assume it.”
